


Perfect

by Wikketkrikket



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2012 style, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Peter Parker, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Hurt/comfort kind of, M/M, Presumed Death, Superfamily, better bring a toothbrush because this is sickeningly sweet, fluff fluff fluff, peter is the adopted child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 07:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20188447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wikketkrikket/pseuds/Wikketkrikket
Summary: Four weeks after their adoptive son finally comes to live with them, Steve goes on a mission.He does not return.Tony has to figure out how to carry on alone now his perfect world has fallen in.(Presumed death, happy ending)





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I love presumed death fics XD There's no point trying to make it a surprise, y'all know what you want and I'm here to (attempt to) provide, haha. 
> 
> This kind of came about because my family were reminiscing about my dad playing 'Hole in the Garden' with us when we were tiny. I think it's cute, so I stole it :)
> 
> Not proof read so please be kind! :)

Perfect

'It was a beautiful day in the garden. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, when suddenly...'

The toddler on Steve's lap was already giggling, joyous with anticipation. Tony couldn't help but smile too at the sight and sound of them together. It was all so right, so perfect, and it made all the struggles and stress and sleepless nights worthwhile. He had never known life could be like this.

'There was a hole in the garden!' Steve declared dramatically, opening his legs and letting Peter gently drop through them to the floor, making the little boy squeal in delight, laughing with a gurgle like a sink, before trying to pull himself up on Steve's knees to do it all over again. Steve laughed.

'Alright, Peter, just one more time, okay?'

Tony snorted. It had been 'one last time' for at least the last fifteen minutes. Steve shot him a look. Tony waved him off in a _don't mind me_ kind of gesture.

'It was a _beautiful_ day in the garden,' Steve said, seriously, settling Peter back onto his lap and holding him by his tiny hands. 'The sun was shining, the birds were singing, when suddenly... there was a _volcano_ in the garden!'

The baby shrieked in delighted surprise as the knees beneath him began to bounce furiously up and down, adult and child both falling into helpless laughter. Tony felt like his heart may actually break in two all over again, he loved this so much.

This was _his _life. _His _husband and baby. How a jerk like him had got to have something so perfect he couldn't say, but he never stopped appreciating that he had.

It had been a struggle, getting Peter. They'd already been trying to go through the process for adoption when they had found him, still alive and hidden under a pile of clothes after a super villain had decided to use his family's front room as a headquarters, slaughtering everyone who got in the way. Peter had been crying, but he had calmed down when he caught sight of the Iron Man armour, interest overtaking his fear of the strange noises. He'd been barely two months old then, so the birth certificate they found later said. Steve had carried him to safety cradled against his chest. On some level, they'd known then, Tony thought; but it was only when they found out he had no other living family that either of them had said it out loud: _He's our son_.

It had been a long, long process. First Peter had had to be given over to the proper authorities, procedures had to be followed, they had to apply and interview and have visits and jump through hoop after hoop but finally, finally, about four weeks ago they had taken Peter home as their son. The ten month old had settled well into his new surroundings, was getting plenty of bonding time with both his parents, and now, at last, they had decided it would be okay for the other Avengers to meet him.

_Just a little party, _Tony had said, and Steve had given him a hard look. They knew from experience that their definitions of 'little' were quite different, but Tony had promised to keep it casual and in the end Steve had acquiesced. He wanted to celebrate, too.

Peter was back on the floor again, holding himself up on Steve's knees. He was still now, considering, looking back and forth between his parents.

'What's up, Pete?' Tony asked. 'You okay, buddy?'

'Da,' Peter said, looking him dead in the eye with a serious expression and, oh heck, Tony would actually die if his heart kept swelling like this, 'Da.' He tapped on Steve's knee.

'Yep, Dada, that's me.'

'Daaaa,' Peter insisted, and lent over to try and pull Tony over. 'Bu.' He patted Steve's knee again.

'Oh!' Tony understood at last. 'Is it my turn? Thanks, baby, that's very kind, but Daddy's too big.'

'You've fit between my legs plenty of times before,' Steve commented mildly. Scandalised, Tony swooped down and swept Peter up into his arms protectively.

'Steve! Not in front of the baby!'

'Like he's going to grow up innocent in a house like this,' Steve snorted. 'But alright, I'm sorry.'

'Yeah,' Tony said, cuddling Peter closer to him. 'Don't worry, bean. I'll protect you from Papa's unsavoury ways.'

'Ga,' Peter agreed. He wasn't paying much attention to the adults, more interested in the light of the arc reactor, running his hands over it with clumsy fingers. Peter loved the arc reactor, which meant that Tony loved it too.

That last afternoon was a memory that Tony would cling to, later, though it pained him like he was looking directly at the sun. Because it was only a few short hours later that their party was interrupted by Natasha telling Steve they had a mission, that they had to go, that the _fate of the world_ was at stake, blah blah blah.

Tony hadn't wanted him to go. Steve could be gone _days_, and neither of them had managed a solo nappy change yet. They couldn't figure out how you were meant to hold the baby and deal with the diaper with only two hands. Besides, Steve was meant to be on leave for months yet. So Tony had grumbled, but he hadn't really fought. They both knew he didn't want to leave them. They both knew he had to. So Steve grabbed his kit bag and left with Natasha, and Tony watched Clint swing Peter around and make him laugh, and tried not to feel like anything was missing.

They muddled along okay, him and Peter. True, there was a day when his jumper was on back to front but honestly, how was anyone supposed to get a baby dressed on their own when the baby wasn't interested? Peter didn't seem bothered and Tony wasn't going to go through it all again just for the aesthetic. He'd fought easier battles against Doctor Doom.

He missed Steve. _Peter _missed Steve. He'd never managed to say 'Pa' before, but by the time Steve had been gone 24 hours he was asking for him with wide eyes. Tony had videoed it for Steve, but Peter had looked so sad that he had deleted it again. Steve had better come home soon.

By the end of the second day, every single available Avenger had been drafted in to help keep Peter still during nappy changes. None of them were pleased about it, though Clint was pretty chilled and Thor was happy to help, merely confused by the purpose of the nappies themselves. Tony didn't know how they potty trained on Asgard, and decided not to ask.

On the morning of the third day, Tony was in the communal kitchen, feeding Peter some breakfast.

'Yummy yummy yoghurt,' he half-sang, coaxingly. 'Actually it's kind of gross but you won't care so long as I keep singing it.'

Peter smiled gummily at him and Tony took the opportunity to shove the spoon in.

'Looks like you're getting the hang of this,' Clint commented. He'd been on the couch in the seating area nearby, but never missed an opportunity to come say hi to the little boy. And why should he? Peter was a delight.

'Best thing that ever happened to me,' Tony said, because he couldn't brush off the compliment with a joke. Not about this.

'Sap,' Clint said, and then his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket and they both saw the caller ID. _Nat_.

'Put it on speaker,' Tony urged, his heart going cold. Clint nodded and did so.

'Hey Nat,' he said, faux-casual. 'You should see this. Stark's singing about yoghurt like a knock off Mary Poppins.'

'Don't let him watch the news,' Natasha said, her voice tight, distressed. 'Steve's gone, Clint.'

Clint went to turn the speaker phone off but Tony stopped him. He couldn't think.

'The whole building must have been rigged,' Natasha was saying, unaware of the grappling that was going on at their end. 'They blew the whole thing. Ten square miles of labs and tunnels under the desert and they just blew it up like it was nothing.'

Steve was _dead_. Dead.

In his high chair Peter squawked indignantly and Tony remembered they hadn't finished breakfast. He went back to feeding Peter, carefully filling each spoonful and holding it up to his son's mouth. Behind him, Clint took the phone off speaker and left the room. When he came back, his eyes were glassy.

'Tony,' he said, softly.

'Would you mind finishing up here?' Tony asked, and his own voice seemed very far away. 'Thanks.'

He gave Clint the bowl of remaining yoghurt, and went upstairs to their – his – bed. He pulled Steve's pillow over to him and tried not to think.

***

Time was suspended. He lay in bed, knowing he could never leave it, because all that was out there was a world without Steve. While he stayed in bed, it wasn't real. Not yet. Time had stopped.

Sometimes someone came in to check on him, to bring him water he didn't drink or food he didn't eat. Rhodes came in and they talked, and Rhodey said he should let himself cry but no, there was no need to cry yet, not yet, not when it wasn't real yet. So he promised Rhodey he would get up soon, didn't mean it, and eventually Rhodey had to leave.

He heard Peter crying now and then and always felt guilty, but if he rolled over and pulled up the blankets and waited, someone would soothe him. They were taking good care of him. Tony had no worries on that score. They'd look after him. They'd know how to cope when Peter asked for 'Pa'.

Later, the door opened. Then the curtains opened. Tony moaned in protest. The sun being let in meant time would move again.

'Da!' an overjoyed little voice said, and Tony rocketed upright to see Clint standing there with Peter in his arms, the child reaching out towards him.

'Clint, no, I can't-' Tony protested, weakly, but his arms seemed to open of their own accord as Clint plopped Peter into them.

'It's not about you any more, Tony,' Clint said. His tone was kind but there was obviously not going to be any room for negotiation. 'You don't have a choice. You have to. He already lost his Pa. He needs his Daddy.'

Blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, Peter was burbling happily, patting Tony's beard with his tiny hands. The sun was falling against his side, warming him. He hadn't realised how cold he had been. He felt his eyes begin to water.

'Hey baby,' he said, cuddling the child closer. 'Daddy's here.'

'Good,' Clint said, patting Tony on the back and getting up to leave. 'And you need to call his social worker, because if you're not able to care for him then-'

'No!' Tony whipped his head round to glare at him, was on his feet before he knew it. 'No way are they taking him back! No way in _hell _are they having him!'

Clint smiled. 'Great,' he said. Then he reached forward and hugged them both. 'You're not on your own,' he said. 'I promise, we'll all help you. But Peter needs you.'

Tony nodded, unable to speak. He felt Peter's curious hands exploring his face, feeling his tears, so he wiped them away quickly.

'Okay, chipmunk,' he said, with as much cheerfulness in his voice as he could muster. 'Let's go sit on the couch. I've heard there's a risk of holes in my garden.' And if his voice trembled, Peter didn't notice.

***

He had showered. Eaten. Drunk. Not drunk any alcohol. He had fed and changed Peter, played with him, comforted and soothed him. He was getting on with life. He was refusing to think about Steve. He couldn't function when he did.

He wasn't sleeping. Was avoiding the news. He'd given strict instructions that all flowers and letters of condolence should be redirected, donated, stored. He didn't want to see them, or think about them. Denial was his only hope of functioning. He needed to pretend that Steve was still just away on a mission, or the weight of it would crush him.

He was trying not to think. Hard work for a man with one of the highest intellects in the world, but he was trying. When Peter napped, he worked on equipment for the team. If Natasha had been in that building as well then-

But it was fine. It was fine. Steve was just on a mission.

This wasn't healthy, Tony knew, but if he let himself fall into that precipice again he'd never get out of the yawning void of it, and Peter needed him.

One night, finally, out of sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep. And he didn't believe in spirits, or ghosts, the afterlife, angels, or visions coming through dreams, but after a while he felt a gentle hand combing through his hair, the palm broad and rough, and knew it could only be Steve. He didn't dare open his eyes. He didn't want to lose this. He hardly dared breathe.

'Hey, honey,' Steve's voice; as full as warmth and love as ever, whispering in the way he did when he didn't want to wake Tony up fully. 'I'm sorry I left you all alone. How you holding up?'

'Fine,' Tony whispered back, trying to choke back a sob. He had to be. He had to be fine. He couldn't bear to disappoint Steve.

'Good,' Steve said. 'I'm so proud of you. I love you. Get some sleep, Tony.'

There was a kiss to Tony's temple, soft and sweet, and the hand left his hair. Tony kept his eyes shut a little longer, hoping, but he knew, somehow, that Steve was gone. He let himself wake up, then, his eyes opening to an empty room, and he wept and wept until his head ached and he had sobbed himself back to sleep.

***

In the early hours of the morning following his little visitation, Tony woke up to found his grief had been somehow dulled. He was ready, he thought, to start taking the painful steps towards moving on. Steve would want that, so Tony would. Maybe he had skipped straight from denial to acceptance. But the hand in his hair had felt so real.

After a moment, he woke up enough to realise that he had been woken by the sound of Peter crying over the baby monitor, and swung his legs out of bed. Then, across the crackle of the monitor, came another voice.

'Alright, buddy,' Steve said, soothingly. 'It's okay, it's okay. Tell me all about it.'

Tony stared at the monitor. Then he rocketed down the hallway to Peter's room.

Steve was there, lit by the light of the lamp near the crib, wearing the joggers and shirt he slept in, holding Peter to him and rubbing his back, trying to settle him. Tony stared.

'Oh no,' Steve said, kissing Peter's hair. 'Look, you woke up Daddy. That's why you need to tell me quieter, bud.'

'Steve?' Tony whispered, staring. 'You're here.'

'Yeah,' Steve smiled fondly. 'Got in a few hours ago. I came and said hi, but I think you were only half awake. I got a shower, checked on this little guy, then I had to go to a debrief that took half the night but-'

'_Stop_,' Tony said, feeling like he was drowning under the torrent of words. The request came out terse, harsher than he wanted. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Steve's face fell.

'I'm sorry, Tony,' he said. 'It was only meant to be a short mission, but when the base blew up and I got separated from Tasha I-'

'Separated?!' Tony repeated. 'Steve! I thought you were dead!'

Steve blinked comically. 'What?'

Something inside Tony broke then. Only Steve. Only Steve could not only survive being blown up and buried in desert sand, and expect everybody to _know _he had survived. The _idiot_. The stupid, stupid _handsome_ idiot.

Tony buried himself in Steve's arms, and his world straightened out. Everything was right again. Of course, Steve was never leaving his sight ever again, but that was an argument for another day. For now he was content to ignore Steve's questions and apologies, and simply stay there, cuddled together with his son and his husband, enclosed in their own little perfect world.


End file.
